


Raava's Favored Prophet

by Dandybear



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Character Study, F/F, Korra-Kuvira-Raava Fusion, Oh My God They Were Narrative Foils, POV Second Person, Past Mentor/Protege Relationship, Slow Burn isssssssshhhhhh, Something Something Redemption Arc, mentioned underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: The purple light of the beam turning gold and green as it seeped into you and Korra. You felt like paint bleeding across a canvas. Korra ended and you began and then your colours bled together and for a few seconds or maybe forever you were infinite. You two (three) were one and the entirety of time and space opened up. It cracked open all false notions you had of order and power. In a the space between life and death you found enlightenment.The only thing worth following or worshiping is Korra. Korraava. The Great Uniter.&&Kuvira escapes prison. Korra follows.
Relationships: Korra/Asami Sato (mentioned), Korra/Kuvira (Avatar), Suyin Beifong/Kuvira (Mentioned)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 122





	Raava's Favored Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> Labelled as Underage to be safe, but the party mentioned is 17 at the time. It's still icky. It's icky. Anyway.
> 
> Hello,
> 
> It's been awhile. This fic was originally from 2014. I found it in the old WIPs pile and dusted it off, so if it feels like there's a shift it's probably around the connective tissue. GOD, it was just supposed to be a slow burn turning to smut fic but noooo I need to have meaningful endings SMH.
> 
> I think I shied away from this years ago because I was like, "what would be enough to redeem Kuvira's deeds?" and then the canon comics didn't care about that either so I guess it doesn't matter. (Laughs in tie-in comics.)
> 
> (Please don't sue me. I do this for a hobby.)
> 
> Unbeta'd. Mistakes are my own.

The difference between humility and humiliation is something you learn the hard way. Your ribcage is cracked. Your frame has been shattered from the inside and the irony of the whole thing is not lost on you. You are a metal shell taken down by an internal sabotage.

The Colossus was even built to mimic your body. The charcoal stained Baatar's hands as he drew sketch after sketch of you. The lines of your arms, your strong shoulders and tapered hips.

It was an excuse to get you naked on his behalf. You remember the streaks of grey his fingers left on your skin. You let him touch and play but did not reciprocate. His release was from his own hand with your name on his lips.

Pathetic.

Suyin's eyes are not on you as she leads you away. Lin's are. You wonder what she's thinking. If she sees you as a monster or a sick reflection of what could have been. You're not going to say 'we're not so different you and I' because it's a pointless cliche. You're enough alike that you two can leave it unsaid.

There is no prison in what's left of Republic City. Instead you are taken to the harbour and put on a wooden boat. It's massive and some of the beams are scorched. This prison has been used before. The Red Lotus lavabender. You wonder who had the foresight to commandeer such a ship.

There are White Lotus guards waiting. The boat rocks as you step aboard and are led to your wooden cage. The guards avert their eyes as Suyin strips you down. She disregards the hisses of pain as she deftly removes metal and cloth from your body. You are taken back to being nine years old and covered in mud. The last time Su undressed you for a bath.

(She's undressed you since then. Neither of you are supposed to talk about that though.)

Lin is there too. You can feel her eyes on the bruises staining your back. She guards the entrance of the cage. She hisses as something particularly nasty looking comes to sight.

"The Flameo is that?" Lin says.

Suyin turns your body so forcefully that you gasp and cry out in pain. But her hands are on your bare skin and you erupt into goosebumps.

Oh, Su.

"We should tell Korra about this."

"About what?" You say.

"It looks like some kind of tattoo or burn. Only it's the same colour as that new portal." Lin says.

"Oh." You say.

The purple light of the beam turning gold and green as it seeped into you and Korra. You felt like paint bleeding across a canvas. Korra ended and you began and then your colours bled together and for a few seconds or maybe forever you were infinite. You two (three) were one and the entirety of time and space opened up. It cracked open all false notions you had of order and power. In a the space between life and death you found enlightenment.

The only thing worth following or worshiping is Korra. Korraava. The Great Uniter.

Your body notices the chill while your mind is occupied in it's ruminating. You are nude now. Is this the beginning of some torture? No, instead cool water is run against your bruised ribs. A healer, a Water Tribe woman with soft hands moves the glowing water like quicksilver across your skin. The glow deepens, and it’s such a strange sensation to have vessels of blood and bone knit themselves back together beneath your skin. You take a breath, testing your ribs. Deep in, with just a hitch of pain. 

The healer moves on to your wounded leg. The gash in it runs deep. The water cannot knit the skin back together, but it can soothe it and promote blood flow and tissue repair. The healer takes out a needle to seal the wound manually. You do not hiss or cry out as she creates new seams for your flesh.

The next thing that happens is a surprise to you that does make you cry out. Lin produces an electric razor. She looks determined not to be apologetic as she approaches you and grabs a hank of hair.

Your beautiful hair. A source of pride. You remember Suyin's compliments and how her fingers would use it like a rope as she fucked you. You search for her eyes in this moment. There are angry tears in the corners of them. She does not give you the satisfaction of meeting your gaze.

That's fair.

With a sense of disconnect you watch your hair litter the floor. Your head is bald now, not smooth, but covered in black stubble. You feel smaller, like a plucked bird.

It's some sense of courtesy that has them cleaning the hair off the floor. Then you're given clothes. A plain white uniform. Lin helps the healer gather her things and leaves. Suyin stands there shaking.

"Did your husband make it out alive?" you ask, feeling the curl of your own sneer. 

She slaps you hard enough to knock you down.

"How did it feel that even faced with torture he wouldn't betray you the way you did him?"

"Shut your fucking mouth, you insolent girl."

She storms off while she still has the last word. It feels good to get enough rise out of her to break the silence. The cell door slams shut and you are at once alone and surrounded. A fish in a tank. A tiger in a cage. Nothing you do will be private for the rest of your life.

Your cell has a small bed and a toilet (small mercy).

There are no nails in this ship. It has been pieced and fitted together as a perfect puzzle. A marvel of medieval engineering. You wonder if Baatar has seen it.

The sky cracks and rain begins to fall.

The cell lacks a proper roof, again, just interlocking wooden beams.

Fantastic.

* * *

You can feel the minute Korra enters the Spirit Portal. Your whole body crackles with energy and light. One of the guards comes to check on you after you cry out. To cover up, you grab the roof and start doing chin ups. He eyes you with lecherous intent.

"You know, you'd be hot if your were a little less butch," he says.

"Could I have your name and rank please? I'd like to report you to your commanding officer next time I see her."

Surprisingly, that tactic works. He returns to his post and leaves you to the silence.

That little flash of warmth. Feeling Korra again. It helps you breathe easier. You think about her arms around you and her determined patience. You remember your minds melding and seeing everything that Korra is and ever was. Finding Naga orphaned in the snow. Carrying her around until she was too big(and then carrying her anyway), the confusion at Katara's tears when you asked to go penguin sledding, the thrill of winning that first game for the Fire Ferrets.

Now Korra has left this world with another hand in hers and you feel sick with jealousy.

At least it's better than the apathy and self-loathing.

* * *

They spare no fanfare. The explosion of lights on the war to the courthouse. The Great Uniter, brought to justice. Of course, the world wants to know. And, your ego both shies from the spotlight and soaks it up. It might be the last time you headline a paper before your death, so you follow the flashes. Face placid, eyes mournful. Public opinion is its own courtroom, after all.

The worlds’ leaders face you in a semicircle. So few, fewer without those you crushed beneath your boot. Between all of them sits Avatar Korra. Her lip is tucked between her teeth, and as her eyes score over you, that thing inside of you that used to be a part of her throbs and you feel the reassuring warmth. You meet her eyes and it throbs again. You want to fall to your knees before her, if only to be lifted again. If only to see if the pieces of her click back together in an embrace. Selfishly, you don’t want to give it back. To hoard your gift in your rib cage until the next judgement day rips it from her, or you.

Su’s to her left with eyes like acid, and a scowl. You hold her gaze as they affix you to the desk.

“Kuvira, to crimes against humanity and spirit, how do you plea?”

Throb.

“Guilty,” passes your lips.

“To murder, enslavement, torture, and invasion, how do you plea?”

Throb.

“Guilty.”

(To desiring the Avatar? Guilty.)

“Well, do we have any further questions?” Raiko seems blithely surprised.

You watch as Toph enters and sits casually beside Zuko. He plays with his goatee before speaking.

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

So that's why Toph is here.You clear your throat, it's hoarse from lack of use.

"Yes. I sought to bring order and unity to a land marred by petty tyrants and war," you wet your dry lips, considering the next words, “I was ready to die on the hill of my supremacy, but I was saved… spared,” you look to Korra, finding her gaze locked onto yours, “By the Avatar, who has saved so many already. She saved me from myself. And the world from me. I can’t undo what I’ve done. Not just the slaughter, and the suffering. I opened a door,” you take a breath, “Nothing will ever be the same after what I’ve done. And I wish I hadn’t. No matter how beautiful it made the sky.”

The answer seems to satisfy Lord Zuko. He tents his fingers in front of his face. His daughter, Lord Izumi, looks less impressed. You have heard that the women of their dynasty have always been more shrewd and cutthroat.

"Did you intend to invade other continents once finished with the Earth Kingdom?" Tonraq says.

"I would be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind. But, as it is, the Earth Kingdom alone is large and frequently unstable. If I were to direct my efforts elsewhere, it would make collapse easier for the Empire," there’s an element of preening, showing Chief Tonraq that you understand conquest. That you’re not foolish. That you know restraint. (Though the smoking husk of the Colossus would suggest otherwise.)

"Did you want to kill Korra?" comes from the lips of the gaunt Northern Water Tribe girl, right, Korra’s cousin, Eska.

That makes you freeze up. Revulsion washes over you. Your throat tightens and you steel yourself past it. That warmth throbs again and you look up to see Korra staring at you intently.

"Yes. When I felt that I had run out of all options I tried to kill Korra. But to have done so would have destroyed me,” you say, leaving it open to interpretation. You do not fake the quaver in your voice. You keep your eyes fixed on your own white knuckles.

Suyin doesn't ask you anything.

"If there are no further questions, then this hearing is adjourned to reconvene in one week’s time for sentencing." Raiko says.

The walk back to the ship is a welcome reprieve. The platinum chains are heavy, but at least you see more than the wooden bars of your cage. The sky around Republic City is a permanent gradient of pinks and purples. It makes you think of the light that enclosed you and Korra. The light of the beam that destroyed the city.

Korra is waiting outside your cell. She looks happier, lighter. There are feminine touches to her that weren't there before. She smells like expensive perfume and her nails are trimmed and varnished neatly instead of chewed and cracked. Any metal she was wearing has been removed.

"Thought I'd come visit you," she says.

"How magnanimous of you to do so," you say.

You do not feign the quaver in your voice. The throb has become a hum and the whole experience is like falling.

Korra joins you in your cell despite the half-protests of the guards.

She's the one who takes the keys and removes the platinum shackles from your wrists. Then she gets on her knees to remove the ones from your ankles. You feel a rush of blood to ... well everywhere at the sight of her kneeling to your feet as if she were submitting or praising you like an idol.

(The way you want to praise her.)

"They cut your hair," Korra says.

"They did," you say.

Korra gets to her feet so you’re eye to eye again. Her hands shake with nervous energy.

"It was a fun fight though," Korra says.

The admission makes you smile. The moment is interrupted by the cell being opened. A guard carrying a platter with a teapot and cups in one hand and a Pai Sho board in the other. It's not a very graceful display and he slops tea onto the floor. You would have taken his rank for that if he worked for you.

Korra just shoots you a weak smile that makes you forget about the guard.

"Asami's been teaching me to play Pai Sho. I've heard that there are all kinds of different rules and tactics, so it should be interesting to play."

"Su taught me how to play when I was a girl."

"Awesome, so you know the rules."

Korra pours tea for you first to show her humility and respect. You do not deserve it.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" you say.

"Because our places could easily have been reversed. Because you’re human. Because there’s still good in you. Because I want to," Korra says.

"Because you love me. No more than any other human, surely, but you are the Avatar and you have love for all living things."

"Well in a general kind of way, yeah, it's because I love you," you shiver at the admission, "and I don't think being kept away from the world with no one to talk to is going to make you a better person."

Korra passes you the teacup and your fingers brush on the porcelain. Neither of you says anything but the warm pulse increases and your breath comes in sharp little pants.

Korra sips her own tea to avoid talking. It's too hot and burns her mouth. She sticks her tongue out petulantly.

It makes you chuckle. A warm rumble that bubbles up to surprise you.

"It looks good." Korra says.

"What does?"

"You," Korra gestures vaguely to 'all of this', “When we first met, you were dancing and you moved so elegantly, but your face wasn’t free. Even when you were in control, uniting things greatly, there was this storm on your face. It’s cleared now.”

“I’ll take the compliment. Thank you.”

You stare at each other for longer than appropriate. Korra is with Asami Sato. You tried to kill your own fiancee (and your real lover, his mother, but that's a whole other bucket of worms.)

The feeling of Korra cradling you after your descent from the portal is one of the few memories that keeps you warm at night. You want to savor this visit. Remember every expression, every Pai Sho move, just preserve this moment for those dark and lonely times.

“But you always have,” Korra says, “Looked good, that is.”

“This is dangerous territory,” you say.

Korra pretends you’re talking about her tactics and says,

“Yeah, I’m not the best at Pai Sho.”

“Clearly.”

The way you say it tries to convey the message that you want to lick the jasmine tea off her tongue. Korra gives you a crooked smile that speaks volumes.

Your time together is too short. She does not embrace you before leaving, no she doesn’t touch you at all. But as she’s walking away she thinks better and returns to your cell. You’ve been pressed against the planks like an embarrassingly devoted pet. Korra sticks her fingertips into the gaps between the wood. You meet them with your own. The only kind of kiss you can have.

Korra breathes heavily and leaves.

You wonder why you only ever fall in love with women who are unavailable.

Baatar wasn’t unavailable or a woman.

Which probably explains the whole ‘not loving him’ thing.

* * *

You wake up to the feeling of eyes on you. Two months in a wall-less cell has made you accustomed to this. However, you do check the source of the gaze. Lin Beifong sits with a folded newspaper by your door. You turn slowly and let your joints pop and crack. Lin sips a cup of tea. There’s a cup for you but she does not offer to pour you any.

Which is fair.

“Why are you here?” You say (because you two don’t need formalities.)

“Because it will annoy Su.” Lin says.

“Is this your day off?” you ask.

She’s still wearing her uniform, but you used to do that on your weekends too. The comfortable shell of metal makes for a good physical and emotional barrier. You wonder if it keeps her protected while she lives in her mother’s shadow.

It didn’t work for you.

“Are you asking if I have nothing better to do than watch you sleep and catch up on the letters to the editor?” Lin says.

You pointedly say nothing and choose instead to pour yourself a cup of tea. The long sip you take is good for cracking Lin’s stern face into a grin.

“Used to be that you’d be right. Lately I’ve been rethinking my priorities. I’m actually here to provide support when they deliver your verdict.”

“Support in the form of sedation?”

“I guess it depends on the verdict. I volunteered for it because I wanted to ask you about some of the comments you made to Suyin after you were arrested. Just how long were you and she…?”

She looks concerned. You realize that your relationship must look bad(because it is bad) from an outsider’s perspective.

“You mean how old was I when we started?” you say.

Lin looks grim as she nods.

“Seventeen. I was the instigator,” you say.

Lin blows out a breath between gritted teeth and shakes her head. She clenches and unclenches her fists.

You jump to Su’s defense.

“My mother was sixteen when she married my father, and Suyin and I had a deeper understanding of each other--”

“You were a child in her care for nine years. Then she slept with you. Had an affair with her own ward.”

“I wanted her to.”

“She was the adult and she should’ve known better.”

“I don’t regret anything.”

“I am going to kick her ass.”

Lin gets up from her seat and begins to pace. You watch from your cross-legged perch on your bed. You’ve seen Toph stalk this same warpath. Usually it ends in metal walls bent and twisted. Lin must be seething at the wooden prison.

Surely enough she stops and presses a thumb and forefinger to her sinuses.

“Excuse me. I need to get some fresh air.”

It feels satisfying to still be able to get back at Su from your own cage. You think that maybe this pettiness is enough. It isn’t, of course, when the high from it dissipates you feel lonely and raw. To think, this might be the last time you see the sun. Today is verdict day. You want to lie to yourself and say it doesn’t worry you, but truthfully you’re terrified. You’re terrified that they’ll choose execution and terrified that they’ll choose a life in prison. You’re terrified that you’ll humiliate yourself by behaving like a flighty animal no matter the choice they make. Undignified weeping and begging for mercy.

You’ve lost everything, but you must not lose face.

Lin returns looking calmer and more resigned. In one hand she clasps a telegram. It’s weird that they couldn’t be bothered to just call it in.

“Well, they’re not going to kill you,” Lin says.

Small mercy. You wouldn’t have done the same. Rather, Kuvira, a power drunken dictator would not have allowed such weakness as mercy. Not for the crimes committed. You, whoever you are now, would like to think that you believe in redemption.

“You’re looking at twenty-five years in prison and a life dedicated to repairing the damage you caused. I’m not entirely sure what that entails yet, but they’re making your old military do the same thing. Turns out they make a good unpaid labour force for rebuilding the city.”

“They’ve turned my people into slaves,” you hiss, incensed. The self-righteous fury that turned you into a monster alights in your chest again, but that throb soothes it. 

“No, they were given the option of prison or community service. It’s not any worse than the labour camps you were responsible for.”

You can’t argue with that so you drink more tea.

“Once they finish their contract they will be allowed to return to their homes and families,” Lin says.

You tent your hands and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You aren’t going to die. Praise Korra because it was likely her doing. Such a benevolent goddess. You’ll kiss her feet the next time you see her.

Wet drops are falling onto your lap. In a disconnected way you acknowledge that you are crying. Lin clears her throat, uncomfortable in the presence of vulnerability. 

“There will be an escort to deliver you to your new cell arriving today. For now I need to go oversee that,” she leaves yet again.

You focus on the thing inside of you that is still connected to Korra. You concentrate all of your relief and gratitude you can on that spot. Nothing happens. She probably can’t feel it. You might be insane. Then a wave of love radiates from that place so strongly that you begin to sob and clutch at the area.

Korra is pure in her all-encompassing love. You are not special; this is the love of a god. She feels just as much for a blade of grass.

* * *

Your new cell is indoors and made of platinum, wood, and glass. The skylight offers you a glimpse of the sun, but it is too far to reach and you do not have wings (they’ve been justifiably clipped.) The bed is new and doesn’t smell like the accumulated sweat of a man imprisoned for thirteen years. You bury your face in the covers and revel in this newfound luxury.

Another luxury, privacy.

Someone is watching you. So, maybe you counted too quickly on the privacy. Slowly, you raise your head from the covers.

Asami Sato is a predator hidden under a pretty face and niceties. You know she can be cold, calculating, and utterly savage. It makes her worthy of respect and incredibly attractive.

“Miss Sato. Come by to inspect your workmanship? I must say, as a former guard captain and one who has imprisoned many, this is a top notch cell. I’m surprised you had time to build it with all the reconstruction of the city.”

“I had a vested personal interest in making the right cage,” Asami says. 

Her voice is terse and her face is pinched. You crushed her father with a sweep of your hand. His body was probably turned to a twisted mess of flesh and metal. The delayed nausea hits you. You think of your own parents, crushed under piles of rock and twisted metal. Their deaths somehow justifying you. Your desire to prevent that from happening to anyone else.

(Part of you still thinks the bandits you hit with your train deserved it. What use were they? Foul men with hands that only took. Lives, livestock, coin, families. The world is better with them dead as ratdogs. And Asami’s father? The terrorist? Would you have shown him mercy off the field of battle?)

“Did you receive my letters?” you ask.

(You send a lot of letters, you have nothing but time and the flimsy feather quill they let you have.)

“They’re in a box. I wish I’d burned them,” Asami says.

“I understand. I may never earn your forgiveness, but I am sorry. For what I took from you.”

Asami makes a disbelieving noise and searches your face. She slams both gloved palms against the glass. It’s still enough to startle a flinch out of you. With a quick exhale through her nose, she seems to gather the courage to say what brought her here.

“Stay away from Korra.”

“I am locked in a cell of your own craftsmanship. We both know I couldn’t leave if I tried.”

“You know what I mean. Whatever it is that happened between you two in the Spirit World has no future and can’t happen again.”

You narrow your eyes and tilt your head. Is she implying...?

“You say that as if I’m some legitimate threat to your relationship,” you say.

You’re out of practice because you do not mask the excitement rising in your voice. But, you don’t want Asami Sato out for your blood more than she already is.

“You have my word that I will not pursue Korra. She deserves more than anything I can give her,” (you lie.)

Asami leans against the bars, “I know.”

You pick at the skin of your hands before stuffing them behind your back, the tucked figure with the puffed chest must ridiculous with you in not but some soft prison pajamas. There’s one thing you want to speak to her about if this is the last conversation you have.

“I wanted to ask. Despite the destruction it caused, what were your thoughts on The Colossus?”

Asami blows hair out of her face.

“It was a work of art. Beautiful mech. The cooling vents being a part of the joints was smart, but might have led to overheating in the long run. I’m iffy on the aesthetic of the hand cannon and the head, but they’re functional.”

You bite back a retort about how the Colossus was exponentially larger than Future Industry’s designs, yet faster and more graceful--because you are trying to keep the peace. Instead, you say, “Those hummingbirds were gorgeous, it was a tragedy to have destroyed them.”

“The whole damn day was a tragedy!” Asami snarls.

You nod, agreeing with everything about that sentence. It seems to irritate Asami further. She wants you to fight, to defend yourself. She wants the monster who took her father. You are incapable of being that person anymore.

“I am sorry,” you offer.

Asami Sato leaves, oddly silent despite her heels. You fall back onto the bedspread and fall asleep.

* * *

  
  


It’s months before your next visit. You don’t try not to take it personally. (You didn’t use double negatives so liberally before your incarceration. It’s affecting your grammar as well as your mind.)

Conversations you’ve had in the past month have been limited to the one word orders or jibes from White Lotus guards. You still have access to the paper, however. Small mercies. You watch the news go from reports of lost and found persons. The climbing number of bodies you left behind. You tear out the final number. 5,366 souls in Republic City and the outer burroughs. The other losses have been less recorded (you know, because you shredded those numbers for probably deniability.)

These past few weeks, however, the wreckage has been pushed further back into the paper. Behind the return of Pro-Bending, celebrity gossip, and the latest exploits of Avatar Korra. (You tear the picture out with fine patience, and slip it beneath your pillow.)

You’re not sure if you’re annoyed or relieved by the world moving forward. Soon you will be just another in a line of failed warlords snuffed out by the Avatar. Despite all your best intentions, you’re still just Chin the Conqueror with a metal suit.

Brooding makes way to a rich internal life of ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could-have-beens’. Fleeing capture and living in anonymity for the rest of your days. Losing that first fight with Korra. Taking her as spoils of war instead. You revisit those fantasies often. Having your own pet Avatar to do with as you please. And Korra, just giving up and assuming the position of your lapdog.

(Fantasies don’t have to be accurate.)

As if summoned by a thought (which might actually be so) Korra arrives on the heels of the guards. You stand, tidying your living space as if she’s going to sit for tea.

“Great Uniter, you have a visitor,” the guard needlessly informs you.

You touch the spots behind your ears, being used to tucking your hair there with nerves. It must look silly, so you stuff your hands in your pockets instead.

The guard watches the wordless exchanges between the two of you. The heaving breaths and mirrored stances. The guard’s jaw twitches as Korra dismisses her. You lick your lips. Alone at last.

“Sorry I haven’t visited in a while. Been busy,” she says.

“I’ve read as much. How was the ball?” you ask.

Korra flushes and touches the back of her neck, like a child who has been caught. Like she’s obligated to visit the women who destroyed her kingdom. The false emperor, a disgraced tin soldier like you.

“Korra, you could leave me in here to rot and it would be more than I deserve,” you say.

“Quit wallowing,” she scoffs, recovering from fluster.

She’s brought a pai sho board with her. Another guard arrives with tea. This one knows how to pour without spilling. The tea tastes fantastic. It’s the kind you hate. Korra probably doesn’t know this and doesn’t care. You relish in the taste on your tongue regardless. It’s too cloying and fragrant, but sweetness is a luxury you are no longer regularly given.

“You are a sight for weary eyes,” you say.

Saving face is overrated when you’re going to spend your life in prison.

Korra’s fingers twitch on her tea. She hums and swishes the tea around in her mouth a little before responding.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You brush your hand over the coarse black bristles that now cover your head. What do you say to that? I think about you all the time? Especially at night? Do you feel it when I touch myself? Do you think of me when you’re with her?

Instead, you ask: “How did you keep them from killing me?”

“I just told them that the last thing we needed was ‘The Martyr, Kuvira’. Ideas hold more power than people. That got Tenzin on board, plus you already had the support of the Fire Nation and my cousins. The Earth Nation is still holding elections for different representatives, but once they get their shit together they might try to come after you again.”

You stare hard at the standing water of your tea. Your empire is divided, you know this from the papers, all those seeds you gathered now scattered on the wind. Perhaps it is better this way. An Empire made on fragile ground will crumble, no matter how well you build your castle. Perhaps it is simply impossible. The Earth Kingdom is no kingdom at all.

“I want you to know, whatever happens, I will protect you,” Korra says.

“Why?” you whisper.

She’s ducked her head to try eye contact with you over the rim of your teacup. You look at her and that thing throbs so hard you both clutch at your chest.

“That would be why. I think I might die without you.”

That sentence is more romantic than any sweet nothing whispered to you by Baatar or Suyin. You try to speak but nothing comes out.

“Woah, I meant that literally. I think in that moment … when I was you and you were me that we--”

“Fused. Yes, I remember.”

Korra flushes, “Yes, but I think you took some of Raava with you.”

You gawk at her.

“Which is totally new ground. Ugh, why can’t I ever just be a normal Avatar? So, have you felt the ability to bend any of the other elements?”

“I haven’t tried,” you say, trying to keep calm.

“Well, keep me updated on that,” Korra takes a hard sip of tea.

“So we’re,” you pause, “two halves of a whole?”

Her eyes meet yours.

(Yes.)

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try Airbending. You certainly feel capable of floating right now in your giddiness. The air stays still, and you are flapping in it like an idiot.

Korra watches before bursting out laughing, “I’ll pretend I didn’t see that.”

Your face heats and you look down.

“Maybe try fire, that was easiest for me,” Korra offers.

The silence of potential stretches between you.

“What does this change?” you ask.

Korra shrugs at you because even enlightenment and infinite cosmic knowledge aren’t enough to know how to maneuver this situation. These are dark waters the two of you tread. You hope that she will at least lead you through it blindly.

She sighs, “It hurts being separated. I hate it. I always want to know you’re close.”

“I don’t think your girlfriend will like that,” you say.

Korra frowns and looks down to the pai sho board. She seems to have just realised that it will be difficult for you both to play between the bars. 

“Asami was here?” she asks.

“She told me to stay away from you. I reminded her that I am in a platinum box. And yet, here we are.”

Korra bites a thumbnail and nods.

“She didn’t tell you?” you ask.

Korra doesn’t respond. Instead she separates the tiles and sets up her move. You play by an old gambit Suyin taught you. Korra defeats you with beginners’ luck. 

“You know, now that I’ve balanced things out with myself, the spirit world, and the different nations, now might be the time to make a unified set of rules for Pai Sho.”

She’s grinning and you get the feeling that there’s an inside joke you’re missing. You laugh anyway because its Korra and she makes you feel the way dancing and power do (fucking invincible.)

“You dance, right?” Korra says.

“I used to.”

“Could you show me some moves some time?”

She’s dusting off her pants and stretching and it’s probably been over an hour already. And, you feel each grain of sand ticking away, wanting to grip her attention with both hands. Always, though, you are too aware of the time. If only you could be endless in a sea of blues, purples, and pinks again.

You stand to parallel her. Two diverging paths connecting again after a windy road. Korra holds a hand up to the bars. You mirror it. Kissing with your palms instead of your fingertips.

It’s barely ten minutes after she leaves that you’re cupping your mound with the same hand and whimpering her name. It feels better knowing she can feel this through the connection you share. Your chest stays silent.

* * *

The next time you see Asami Sato she is a tight wire. The soft curves have hardened into paranoia and resentment. She’s not an idiot.

“I told you to stay away.”

“But you didn’t tell Korra.”

“I’m not her keeper--”

“And I am?”

Her lip quivers. A sign of weakness you want to pounce on. Raava holds you back, or maybe it’s Korra? Maybe that long buried sense of sympathy has finally broken down the last of your defenses.

“What does it feel like?” you ask.

Pale eyes glare at you from under crisp lashes.

“Being loved by her. What does it feel like, being a god’s favourite?”

Asami shakes her head and leaves.

* * *

Your brain fills in the blanks. You're back in that wooden cell and Korra is striding toward you with intent. She greets you not with a kiss of the palms, but by holding a finger out. One you open your mouth to accept. Her face is stony as you explore each joint with teeth and tongue. You puff your lips and look up at her with pathetic wanting. She's breathing heavily, using her free hand to grab and twist in your hair. When she's satisfied, she pulls you up by the collar. 

"Drives me wild. Least they could do is find something to bind these," and she rolls one of your nipples to make her point. "How am I supposed to focus on anything else?" she growls and drops her head. 

You mewl as her lips close around your chest through your shirt. She dampens the cloth with her saliva, making the nipple even more erect. Then she looks at you with blue eyes so dark they're like a storm. 

"You're mine, you know that? My spoils of war. My pet dictator," and she surges up to lick a line from your mouth to your ear. 

"I'm yours," you whimper. 

Korra snarls and takes you. 

It feels like fire, being so consumed that when you awake you always check for scorch marks. You’ve got nothing but time now, so measuring your days in failed attempts at multi-bending fill in the gaps between Korra’s visits.

Except, this morning there’s an ashy spot on your pillow.

* * *

Korra’s different this meeting. Distracted, frustrated. Your attempt to soothe her through your link is shut down with bared teeth.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

She exhales hard, “What do you want from me, Kuvira?”

You blink in surprise, opening your mouth to reply.

“No, don’t that…” she sighs again, “That wasn’t fair. You didn’t ask me to come here. I  _ wanted  _ to come here.”

“I can see why you’d want to know. Though I thought it was obvious what boons I’m getting from this arrangement,” you stall.

“Would you want me here if you weren’t so lonely?” she asks bluntly.

“I never feel lonely with you,” slips out before you can catch it.

“The connection--”

“More than that,” she’s all you have to lose, but you’ve never been a coward in pursuing what you want, “Even before all this happened … I felt drawn to you. I thought it was, some kind of childish hero worship. You were the Avatar, after all. But those aren’t the parts of you I want.”

Korra inhales sharply, irises expanding. 

“You want me?”

“Don’t look so surprised. You’re a handsome and powerful woman, I doubt desire is new to you.”

Korra flushes, “I just--”

The door swings open and a guard sticks his head in, “Avatar Korra, we have an urgent telegram for you.”

She leaves with only a glance back of,  _ "This isn't over." _

* * *

She doesn't return. Not in the weeks that tick by. Regret rolls around in bed with you. It was too bold and now you are alone. That throb in your chest sits dormant and silent, no matter the attention you pay it. 

Lin Bei Fong is your only other visitor, bringing her newspaper and a snack to sit with you, almost like a guard to herself. 

"Does this really bother Su?" you ask. 

She crunches down on a pickle, "Like you wouldn't believe."

But mostly. Mostly you just dream. You dream of icy canyons, and secret springs in red mesas. You dream of sands that shift with the wind, and jungles so dense you cannot see your hands in front of your face. You dream of the golden gaze of a Lion Turtle. 

Whose eyes are you seeing through? Hers, you hope, but it’s much more likely that she’s holed up in Republic City and ignoring you. Just dreams. Old flashes of old lives. Things that don’t belong to you.

You’ve stood on the edge of those dunes. You’ve peeled up the roots of that jungle. You like to think that if given the chance now, you would appreciate their beauty, but aren’t sure if you can be trusted to be let out of your cage. Your fingers still tingle with power, purple and crackling, and how intoxicating it would be. To give in. To reshape the world in your image.

But without her, you can focus on the little bursts of power. Asami Sato’s perfect locks cannot be manipulated by Earth--made of wood and platinum. But water? Fire? Tear through wood with ease.

This is how you escape.

You destroy the lock, then sit and wait for that one last day, building the hum in your chest to a fever pitch.

Avatar Korra does not come.

So you leave through the door.

* * *

There is a town in that mesa, half built into the cliffsides, half erected in the shade. You’ve traded your robes, like your armor, for simple clothes of oranges, yellows, and browns--nothing grey or green. You do not draw much attention to yourself, working a farm outside of town more for the challenge than the necessity. To breathe life into a place so arid and desolate. Bargaining with the fragile root systems as you filter water up their stalks by hand. Sweat gathers on your brow both from the strain and the sun. When the night starts to bleed into the land you’ve turned sprouts into buds. The roosterdog you keep brays, alerting you of his hunger. He’s the only animal you keep. Livestock needs too much. Too much feed, too much water, and besides: You’ve lost the taste for meat.

(Or maybe it’s just another indulgence you’ve rid yourself of in this hair shirt existence. Proving yourself worthy. Worthy of mercy.)

Some nights you stay up gnashing your teeth because you  _ ran  _ and she still hasn’t followed. How long must you look over one shoulder until you are granted Her good graces?

What do you do when your god has abandoned you? Despite the evidence of her love painted over your arms and ribs. Streaks of purples, blues, and pinks--all in Raava’s bony pattern.

You will start small. Bringing green back to red, then maybe you’ll roam the Si Wong Desert and raise the spires of Wan Shi Tong’s library. Maybe you’ll map the paths of the lost Dragonturtles. Maybe that will be enough. 

* * *

Dancing comes back easier than any of the new bending comes forward. A twist of the heel, a stretch of the calf. The version of Su in your mind tuts and adjusts your perfect form (for the excuse to touch you.) 

Still, you wish you had the direction. The correcting hand. The constructive critique of your form.

There is no instructor, no audience. Just you, dancing your own solo atop the mesa. The most wanted woman in the Earth Kingdom.

“Hey!”

You slip in your startle, diving to hide from attention.

It’s Her of course. Despite the tether, she snuck up on you. Standing down there at the foot of the mountain with her neck craned and her palm shielding her eyes.

You don’t get to decide whether you’re running to or from her, because she clears the mountain in a bound and lands gently before you.

“I’ll be honest, I was expecting much more of a…” she searches for the word, shielding you from the sun.

“A reckoning?” you offer.

“Yeah,” she looks harder and softer at the same time. Her body’s all rocky muscle, but her eyes are old and tired.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you take the hand she offers. The electrical charge that runs between your fingertips makes you both wince (or moan, you’re not sure which.)

“After ten thousand years it’s good to have someone who can still keep me on my toes,” she shrugs.

“Is it Korra or Raava I’m talking to right now?” you ask, feeling a little off-balance yourself.

“Both. Always both,” she smiles.

You take her back to your place because you have nowhere else to go. She pauses at the gate to admire the garden.

“You did all this?” she asks.

You shrug, “Trying my hand at creation instead of destruction. Breeding crops that use less water. Want some tea?”

“I’d love some,” she groans, stretching. 

You busy yourself with your set up. Blowing on the fire's coals until they provide a warm glow. 

"Here, let me," Korra presses a hand to your waist. Your breath hitches. She notices. Her palm curls, going from a touch to a cup. 

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, "Do you have anywhere I can wash?"

You swallow against your dry mouth, "There's a basin out back."

"How big is it?" that's a loaded question. 

"Depends on what you plan to use it for."

Because that throb in your stomach has been quiet, but the throb between your legs has been very loud. You're still not sure if Korra is here to kill you, capture you, or … what? You hope that she's here to enact some of your more vividly filthy dreams. You think that's what she's here for. You are notoriously delusional when it comes to women though. 

Korra smiles, wide and radiant, before exploring the backyard. A big white shape joins her. Right. Her animal guide, that must be how she got here.

“Does she need some--”

Korra bends a crack in the ground the begins to fill with spring water.

“My well,” you mourn a little pathetically.

“It should be fine,” she says.

A big white head lowers, releasing a tongue that takes up big gulps of water. Your own hound is sniffing Naga with interest. His red feathers all puffed out. 

Korra peels her shirt off, revealing a marbled torso and wrapped breasts. You gawk openly. The kettle shrieks to let you know the water is ready. You tear yourself away to fill the teapot. 

Korra’s dripping when she comes back in, “You were pretty hard to find,” she grabs the tea and sips it hot without so much as a wince. 

“How did you find me?” you can’t help but ask.

“Naga has a very good sense of smell. Once we got in proximity I started asking around about a humourless woman with a mole under one eye.”

You scowl. Korra laughs, “Plus this is the most interesting looking town in this desert. Of course you’d be drawn to the shadow of the mesa.”

Your scowl deepens, “Maybe I wanted to give you the advantage, since you’ve taken so long in finding me.”

Korra sets down her tea, “Yeah. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I told you that an evil primordial spirit awoke beneath the sea and started terrorizing the Southern Water Tribe?"

You stare at her, "It would be within the realms of your expertise."

"There were a lot of news stories about it."

"Don't get the news out here."

She hums. 

"Are you here to take me back?" you cut to the chase. The chitchat is too much. You should be content to bask in her proximity but after all this time with no answers… it's too much. 

Korra sighs, gripping the top of the doorway with her hands and leaning forward, her biceps popping with the movement. "I'm here for you. The rest, I don't know yet."

Your shoulders tick up and you sip your tea for a needed pause, "Okay."

"Okay," Korra says, "Do you need help with dinner?" and pushes off, stepping into your space. 

"Are you staying for dinner?" you ask, batting your lashes.

"Can I? I've been on the road a long time," Korra's voice is low and near. 

You tip your head. If she's going low, you'll go high, nose brushing her brow. 

"Would your girlfriend be happy with that?" you can barely breathe around your nerves.

Korra sighs through her nose, "I don't have a girlfriend." 

It's the "go" to make you surge forward, catching her mouth with yours. That thing: That piece of Raava flares within you. You feel it. It's that glow that threatened to destroy you or reshape you. The pillar of light that's you, and her, and a whole lot of spiritual energy. It's raw, enough to rear a hole between worlds. 

Then her tongue touches yours and you think you might swallow reality. Her hands link around your hips, one clawing upward, to your spine, your shoulders. Your own hands cup her jaw, holding her in place, keeping her close. She's heaving, lifting you up onto the counter. 

She feels so good. Her muscles, the fine hairs that decorate them, the touch of her tongue. The velvet of her lips. The heat of her mouth. She’s hot everywhere, and her touch sets you alight. 

Her mouth trails down your jaw and neck. You arch into it. If she bites down and kills you it will be the sweetest of deaths. Instead, she pants against your neck, "I know I just asked about dinner, but do you want to maybe--"

"The bedroom is this way."

Your bed is the least rustic part of this life. It's a point of pride and embarrassment. Even in a cell you were in the lap of sleep luxury. So, your bed out here is firm, but yielding. It's pillowy and big and you stole it from some bandits and failed to return it to the merchants they stole it from. 

"Fancy," Korra remarks. 

You turn to kiss her, because you can now. She smirks against your lips and lowers her palms to cup your breasts. You moan, pushing your chest against her hands. 

"You didn't bind these when you were in prison," she says against your lips.

You smile, knowing she can feel it, "No, I just took them off whenever you were visiting."

"Tease," she growls. 

And then she's pushing you back, attacking the tie of your belt, shucking your pants down and taking a deep inhale from the crux of your legs. 

"I should bathe quickly," you feel suddenly self-conscious.

Korra holds you in place, "I want you sweaty."

She eats you for an appetizer, mouth chasing that slickness you feel when she's around. It's like a dream, looking down to see her face between your legs, working you up and down with enthusiastic abandon. 

After your first orgasm she tosses you onto the bed and undresses herself. You pull her in with arms and legs, feeling the way her abs lock with yours. If she had a cock, you think about how easily she'd sink into you here. How eagerly she could breed you. 

Instead, she links your legs, dragging herself along your thigh as she kisses you. 

You pull her in, wanting her closer. Always closer. 

It’s like breathing. In and out. You and her. And somewhere around your fifth orgasm (her smug face peeking out between your legs) the sky cracks and you start at the pelleting of rain against the tin shingles on your roof. She takes your surprise to finish you off with a toe curled shriek.

“Mercy,” you beg.

She offers her fingers for you to suck and you circle them with a dehydrated tongue. Korra flops, naked, next to you, looking much like the bearcat that ate the canarysalmon.

“That’s nice, she stretches in the gust of cool air from the window.”

“Did we do that?” you ask, still recovering.

“Maybe,” she laughs, standing up, comfortably nude in your home, “I’ll get some water.”

Her walking and you struggling with your legs takes you back, years now, to the day you almost ended the world. Without a word, you limp after her. She’s in the kitchen, standing in the doorway to the courtyard, marveling at the rain. It’s hard and loud (much like her) pelting the fragile bodies of your plants instead of soothing them. The ground is too hard. It’s more likely to cause sludge and slides than to create a garden. Naga is miserably wet, curled as much as she can, into the shelter of your shed. Your hound however, braves the water, as if trying to compensate.

The water collection system you have is quickly filling, you’ll have to switch rain barrels soon. You fill a pitcher of water and drain two cups before taking a second one to Korra. She turns at your touch and smiles.

“Look at that,” she says.

You hum, tucking your face into her neck.

She sips water, scratching your head, “Your hair’s growing out.”

“I like having it long.”

“I like it long too,” she says, tugging the soft underhair gently then hard. It spikes heat downwards and you laugh, “Please, give me time to recover.”

“Okay, enough punishment for today. Tomorrow however,” Korra finishes her sentence with a filthy kiss that you collapse into.

It’s with regret that you pull back, “Dinner.”

“Dinner.”

Dinner, turns out to be fresh vegetables and flatbread. You don’t bother with presentation, just a sauce for dipping. You sit on the cushions on the floor and eat in silence, sipping cold tea. 

“So, primordial ocean spirits?"

* * *

Korra does not arrest you. She stays. The routine comes quickly. Sex, pai sho, gardening, and exploring. 

She's teaching you elemental control, but the moment her hands reach to correct your form they lose focus in the task and get lost on your body. It would be frustrating if it weren't what you wanted as well. 

She unearths a spring in the valley, buried deep and hidden behind some boulders. She's the one who leads you to water. She's the one who strips you down and washes your hair. You both splash around with the dogs, letting them cool off as well. 

The two of you climb up to that Mesa where she first found you, and Korra says, "Do you think people have had sex up here?"

And then she begins to undress. 

"I'm sure in the whole history of humanity that someone has had the idea to mmph--" and then she's on you. 

It feels foolish and exhilarating in the way young people are. But, you never got to be young and foolish. So, here's you at close to thirty, hunched over and getting taken from behind by the glass phallus Korra likes to surprise you with. The sun is baking down on you two, and the air is dry and dusty. None of this is as fun as sex at home, or in the spring, but it's more about saying you've done the act. Yes, we had sex on that big, red rock. Yes, Korra pulled you down to clean your own taste off the phallus afterward. Yes, you love it when she holds your head gently when she thrusts violently. 

"Do you want to stay here forever?" she asks on the fifth night of the third week. You're on her lap, bracketing her hips with your knees. 

"Is that an offer or a question?"

"Quit being such a politician, Kuks, and tell me what you want."

You sigh, not wanting to talk about things like The Future, having dreaded this conversation every day spent in your little oasis. 

"I want to be free and I want to be with you."

Korra kisses your hand, "If you had to choose one, which would it be?"

Anger rolls around your teeth, "Now you're not being fair."

Korra sighs and grabs your hips, holding you close while looking up at you with those blue eyes, "I just mean that, eventually something's gonna happen. And when it does, you can either come in as my prisoner. Or you can run."

"Your prisoner?" 

Her grip tightens and she rolls her hips against your mound. Cheater. 

"I dunno, I just, I'd tell them that I'd need to keep close watch on you. And be your personal warden, punishing you however I see fit."

"Oh?" you run a finger from her collar bone, down between her breasts, along her abs, and then lift it off of her, "What kind of punishment?"

Korra flushes and her voice gets low, "Oh you know, whips and chains. Spankings, searching your cavities for hidden weapons?" She's turning so red. 

You grab her hands, linking your fingers and then kissing hers. 

"I used to fantasize about taking you prisoner," you admit, "Back then."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmhm. I'd use your face as a chair, and parade you out naked for the world to see, then fuck you in front of the world leaders."

Korra moans. 

You lean down to whisper in her ear, "I'd degrade you, and you would love it, always spreading yourself open and begging me for more."

"Projecting, Baby?" she growls. 

"Giving you ideas," you kiss her. 

The sex that follows is intense. The throbbing in your stomach seems to hit a fever pitch as Korra is pumping her fingers in and out of your mouth. You finish, messily, onto her abs and then clean it off with your tongue. 

In the messy, tangled aftershocks, with your hand inside her, you mouth against her temple, "If the choice you're offering me is endless pleasure or never seeing you again then there's really no choice at all."

"I want to explore with you. More than this Mesa, I want to find the world's hidden secrets together," she says, so soft and open. 

"I'd like that," you say. 

"I'm glad," she kisses you again. 

The farm has exploded with vegetation, similar to the explosive rain, it might be due to the amount of intense god sex happening in close proximity. But, it's as much a beacon as it is a blessing, so you leave it. Just a place. Just a shelter for the next person weathering the arid heat. 

You give the hound to the family at the house nearest to yours. He brays in betrayal, his cries echoing across the Mesa as you ride away. 

"You know," Korra sighs, "Master Katara always told me that The Great Divide sucked."

  
  


The next stop is a forest of long trunks and beautiful red leaves. Marvelous wooden giants that block out the sun. 

"I remember," Korra trails off, "There used to be … it's this way, I think."

And an afternoon of scrambling around the treetops like a pair of squirrels does finally lead them to it. An old village of treehouses, half rotted and consumed by the woods. 

"This was a rebel base. Bunch of kids, really."

"I thought you were disconnected from your previous lives," you find the most structurally sound looking plank to land on and crouch there. 

"Me too," Korra scratches her neck, "I dunno, I remember things more when I'm with you."

If the Bei Fong brothers were around they'd mock the softness of the expression you give her. 

"I don't know how it's possible, but I get these dreams and these flashes and, maybe when we broke apart…."

"It's worth trying," you creep across the branches to grab her arm. 

"Yeah," you want to read into the look she gives you. 

Korra teaches you to control the path of flame along a leaf. You keep it in time with your heartbeat, low and stable. Like a breath.

“I love you,” Korra says.

You jolt and the leaf explodes into flames. Korra sucks away the air, leaving the ball of fire to choke and die.

“Not just in the way that I love all living things. I love you because you’re my Kuvira,” Korra adds in a rush.

She topples over with the force of your kiss, “I love you, my Avatar. My Korra.”

You nuzzle your noses together and share dreams of lives gone by beneath the canopy.

* * *

You try not to think of it as borrowed time, this adventure of yours. The two of you, and Naga, skirting every major city and road just to be together. To be normal lovers, making a pilgrimage to find yourselves in a rapidly changing world.

A sick reminder makes itself known with a river of destruction. Marbled lava and machinery. Your mechs, taken down by Bolin, still polluting a forest with a little pulse of purple light.

It feels like another life already, one you’ve escaped.

“I did this,” you say simply.

Korra’s brows are lowered, “Yeah, you did.”

Naga sleeps between you that night.

* * *

“How do I fix it?” you ask on the third day of a cold front from both her and the weather.

“I don’t know, Kuks,” she sighs, cupping your cheek, “I think that … doing nothing but active good for the rest of your life is enough for me. But, I can’t speak for the other people you’ve hurt.”

You think of the green spot in the desert, or the pieces of history you and she recovered from the woods. The baby eeldragons you rescued from a fishing net, the children you fed along the road.

And then you think of the labour camps, the destroyed countryside, the bandits with their heads crushed beneath your train. You think of the holes that litter Republic City.

“If I go back to prison I can’t fix the destruction I’ve caused,” you say.

“Yeah, but some people don’t want you to make it better. They just want you to suffer.”

You nod. The guilt hangs around your neck like a platinum chain, but each day you awake in the arms of the woman you love, you eat good food, feel the touch of grass underfoot and wind on your arms.

You are not suffering.

* * *

You steal kisses and moments down alleyways, or on sunset hills. You fall in love with Korra’s idiosyncrasies. Not just the fighter or the merciful god. The funny girl who scares children with her nerve damaged hands. The girl who writes long letters and hates mornings. She shows you how to sing with your throat, how to tie a trap, and how create an air ball. You show her how to create complex shapes of metal, how to whistle with grass, and how dance on a ribbon as delicately as a feather.

Your courtship may have begun with spiritual completion, but now there is understanding. A shared language. Shared dreams and secrets. Your life in Zaofu unfurls, and you watch Korra’s mouth turn in disgust.

“It wasn’t like that,” you insist.

She shakes her head and hugs you.

A few months feels like twenty years, but each day is spent glancing over shoulders. Hiding faces, false names.

The world catches up to you on the steppes of the Northern Air Temple.

Tenzin, with his pointed beard and his flaming temper, descending like the Old North Wind himself. Korra throws herself between the two of you, looking so young and wounded as she splays her limbs in protection.

Words are thrown out like “cage”, and “separate” and it turns your blood to quicksilver. Your mouth goes dry and your eyes go hot and you’ve faced down the barrel of your own destruction and never been so frightened.

“Tenzin, please!” Korra’s voice is ragged in her own grief. You reach a hand out for her, locking your fingers for dear life, because they come. They may pull you apart. But, you will fight. You will not surrender her easily.

Tenzin, her past life’s child, looks at her with open disbelief.

“How could you?” he asks, both judgmental and curious.

And Korra, bearcat she is, lashes out hard and cold, “I think that after all I’ve given this world, I deserve just one thing for myself.”

The old man deflates a little, seeming thinner, smaller, sadder. Grief. Grief for the father, and grief for the god-child beaten into shape by circumstances. Avatar Korra, the break in the chain. The girl poisoned, chained, broken. The God, choked out. The fire that refuses to die.

(Korra still has nightmares about this. Waking up sobbing because she can’t feel her legs. She can’t feel her lives. She is lonely and frightened, but your touch comforts her.)

“You’re your own woman, Avatar Korra. I couldn’t control you as a girl, and I sure can’t control you now, I just hope,” his eyes slide to you, and harden your gaze, “That you don’t come to regret this.”

Korra scowls, “If you’ve any love for me, you won’t tell anyone you’ve seen us.”

“I can promise my silence, I can’t promise theirs,” Tenzin says, gesturing upwards. Orange caped benders stick to the walls of the cliffs like bats, gawking.

Korra swears, and tugs you towards Naga. 

“That’s the easiest it’s gonna be,” you tell her at dinner.

She curls into herself, eyes level with her knees, “I know.”

“I’ll understand if you want to--”

“Don’t,” she says.

“Korra, we need to be realistic,” you sigh.

Korra surges up, pinning you, “You built a giant suit of metal, I turned into a being of pure energy. We ripped a hole in the world. What have we ever done, together or apart, that is staying realistic?” It’s frantic and it’s frightening, and you feel the tears sliding down your face. Hers and yours.

“I’m the Avatar. They’ve gotta deal with it,” and she kisses you.

You haven’t fallen asleep when she jerks awake from her nightmares. She pants against your chest, sobbing her way back to calm, “Don’t let me go, okay?”

“I won’t,” and you kiss her head.

You won’t.

You should, but you won’t.

* * *

“Korra, you’re scaring me,” you say on the third day of the boat trip. The last leg of your fleeing to the Northern Water Tribe, you assume. Except not, except Korra turned the boat towards open water, back towards the Earth Kingdom.

“How good are you at lava bending, she asks?” 

“An amateur, but I’ve always been a fast listener,” you say.

You could not expect the destination. A plume of steam and water exploding from the ocean. You drop to the deck, expecting a leviathan to emerge. None such creature makes its entrance, instead, Naga licks your face.

“I can do this, but I need your help,” Korra sheds her jacket.

Your understanding turns to awe as you watch her glide across the water with both feet, then crack open the hole in the earth wider with a slice of one arm. Hot lava pours out, then hisses to cool. Hardens, forms.

You’re like her, you can do Earth, Water, and Fire, but Air has proven tricky to capture. You stay on the boat, finding the Earth rolling and exploding, the planet’s lifeblood oozing out with the guide of your hand.

Korra bends the sea over the lava. You pull the mountain up, higher, until the spire looks out over the water, surrounded by lush fresh basalt. You’re both sweating, straining with effort. Korra’s eyes glow, and you feel that same glow buzzing in your fingertips.

It’s a dance, you find, the movements you’ve learned to share helps you form the island. A beautiful act of defiance, like Avatar Kyoshi before you.

When all is done, it’s a mass of spiny rocks and cooling soil. Potential.

“Do you still have those seeds?” Korra asks, wiping her brow.

“What’ll we do for fresh water?” you ask.

A hot geiser drowns out Korra’s reply.

* * *

“What’ll we call it?”

“A work in progress.”

* * *

“Korra Island” is the kind of egoism expected of you, not her, but it sticks.

A political no man’s land. Somewhere you are not a wanted criminal, rather a wanted lover, confidante, partner.

Wife, even, as she presents you with a hand carved necklace.

It’s the necklace that seems to solidify your place, as the literal boatloads of nay-sayers arrive to talk her out of it, only to see the domestic paradise you’ve carved out of the world.

Bolin is the first to wish you well, and you’re not sure if that speaks to a strength or weakness of character.

Lin arrives with a rucksack and a newspaper. She looks around, before nodding approvingly.

“Mind if I camp out for a bit?” she asks.

“Only because it will make Su mad,” and you share a smile.

And you sit with her, years after your rebirth, hair whipping in the wind, and you watch your Avatar, your Korra, your Raava, walk along the beach with her ex-lovers in tow. A fractured love triangle with their hands stuffed in their pockets and their collars up to the wind. You send her a throb of peace. She sends one back.

(Don’t worry about me.)

You meet her on the scarred threshold of your shared hut, and you kiss her senseless. And, you think, this is what victory tastes like.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for going on this wacky journey with me. Please tell me all about your experience reading this fic in the box below. I worked really hard on it.
> 
> Stay safe.
> 
> DB


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